


Collectable

by emeraldoni



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Gen, space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldoni/pseuds/emeraldoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He owns her, but she is no one's possession. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago and posted on FF.net, but I recently became RE-INVOLVED in AOW, so I decided to post this. This is my first DBZ fic, so please take that into account. I also can't help having a strange fascination with Frieza - so much MYSTERY, so that's why this was written. Reviews are much appreciated.

Bulma had given up struggling by the time they reached the barren throne room. They dragged her through winding metal hallways, their vice-grip claws digging into the bruised skin of her biceps. The hiss of sliding doors revealed a circular room with monstrous men posted around the edges; foreign, twisted faces and clean armor. Bulma tensed, pushing her heals down into the slick floor to no avail. Her captors dragged her along with ease, closer to the floating, egg-shaped throne. A pink, smirking face peered at them from it.

Her captors fell to their knees, forcing her with them. Bulma didn’t even bother to struggle, instead scrunching her face so as to not let tears fall.

“Lord Frieza,” addressed the purple, fish-faced monster on her right. “We brought you a gift.”

The lord peered at her, unimpressed. “Its power level is negligent, Cui. Kill it.”

Bulma tensed.

“My Lord,” Cui replied steadily, though his voice had gone up a notch. “It is not its power level, but its mind that is special.”

Frieza waved a flippant hand. “I remain unconvinced, but if you insist, lock it up. I will study it later.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Bulma went limp as they dragged her out, wishing with all her might that Goku were there to save her. But he couldn’t, because Bulma was in space, and Goku was dead.

O

The room they tossed her in was small, square and blindingly white.

Cui glanced at her condescendingly. “Settle in, human. You will be here until Lord Frieza tires of you, so I suggest you make yourself interesting.”

“Screw you,” snapped Bulma, watching him as he snickered before opening a panel _inside_ the room. He clicked a button, letting the door hiss open again before stepping out. The door slapped shut behind him, a card-shaped window letting her peer into the hallway. Bulma remained stationary on the cold floor, letting her body settle into the peace of not being surrounded by blood-thirsty aliens. She didn’t think about Earth, about her family or friends. Instead, she thought about how those arrogant bastards hadn’t searched her, and how she had a small tool kit in the pocket of her ripped shorts.

Bulma ignored the soreness of her body, the blue bruises that rivaled the vividness of her hair. Bulma stood, brushing off her shorts, as though it would make any difference. They were so stained with blood, dirt and vomit that they would never recover.

She stood on her tip-toes, peering out the miniature window. Her line of sight was extremely limited, but Bulma was running off of adrenaline and the desperate need for luck, so she took it for what it was. Hopefully no one was there. She had to get out before that _thing_ came in.

Bulma popped open the panel, studying the keypad and various colored buttons. It was alien technology, but all technology shared a basis. Bulma pried the cover off, looking at the tangle of wires with extreme satisfaction.

_Not that different at all._

It took her a few minutes of rewiring the controls before the door slid open, much to her satisfaction. Bulma peered out, seeing no sign of life, and strode into the hallway. Her body hummed with fear and adrenaline, her hands shaking as she nearly trotted down the corridor. She had no idea where she was going, but there had to be pods here somewhere. That was how they invaded Earth. If she could find one….

There was a split, three separate halls for her to choose. Bulma went straight, hoping beyond hope that this was the right direction. To what, she wasn’t sure, but there had to be _something…anything…._

Bulma’s breath came out in shallow pants. She was so… _vulnerable._ Granted, she was used to being vulnerable, but usually Goku was there to protect her. Or Yamcha. Or Krillin.

But she was on her own now and—

Voices. There were definitely voices. Bulma glanced frantically around the hallway. A door, a closet, _anything!_

Bulma back-tracked the opposite way from the voices, her heart exploding in her chest – over and over.

_There!_

A door. Bulma fumbled with the panel, fingers quivering to such an extent she missed the open button twice before hitting it. Bulma stumbled in, thanking all the _(dead)_ gods that the room was uninhabited. It was just like her cell, except there were two cots in opposing corners. Bulma pressed herself against the wall by the door and willed her body to freeze.

There were the voices, dulled by the thick metal sheeting of the wall. Two, at least, and she would be no match for even the lowliest of foot soldiers. They stopped, their voices just barely intelligible.

“Yes…. It’s ready… expedient.”

“Quickly… you must….”

“Of course.”

“But first… something I… take care of.”

To Bulma’s horror, the door slid open. The atrocity of the moment slowed down to a single pin-pointed second in her mind, as though it would replay over and over in her dreams forever. There, blank space. Then, a face. A proud, smooth, pink face. Bulma choked.

“Look at this, Zarbon,” he murmured menacingly. “An escapee.”

A tall, green, delicate-featured man appeared behind him.

“The human, my Lord.”

Bulma was taller than him, but the hair prickled on her arms as she pressed herself against the wall.

“Hmmm,” the miniature lord replied. “Maybe Cui was right for once. Perhaps it is interesting.”  His tail waved behind him, as though excited.

_Like a dog,_ Bulma thought hysterically. An evil, reptilian dog.

“Well,” Frieza said, “I suppose I’ll be taking you.”

She never saw the attack coming. All she felt was her body slide into blissful darkness.

O

Once again, she was in the cell. Bulma stared fuzzily at the white ceiling, wondering why the hell she was still alive. Her head pounded, and her mouth felt like it was filled with mucous. She tried not to groan and sway as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Didn’t they know how bad head injuries were? They could have permanently damaged her mind.

Of course they would know, and the lizard lord probably had more control over his power than any other being on the ship. Bulma tried not to vomit. She could get out again. She still had her tool kit. She just… she would go the opposite direction….

Once again, Bulma fumbled with the key pad, trying her best not to vomit as her vision blurred. The door slid open in a few seconds this time, to Bulma’s relief—

\--Which was squashed painfully fast when a fat, pink thing smirked at her from his lounging position in the hallway.

“Lord Frieza was curious if your escape was fluke,” it said with a deep drawl. “Guess it wasn’t.”

Bulma backed into her room. “Don’t touch me!” She commanded, though her voice shook.

It snorted. “Come on, human. Lord Frieza wants to see you.”

“No!”

It didn’t waste any more time arguing with her though, instead grabbing her arm – _bruised bicep, dammit! –_ and dragging her beside him. Bulma was growing _real_ tired of being treated like a rag doll.

The prisoner-walk didn’t last long enough, despite her discomfort. Too soon they came to the familiar throne room, and Bulma was facing the lizard lord in his ridiculous egg throne.

“Dodoria,” he greeted smoothly.

“My Lord,” the fat thing replied. “As you expected, the human was able to escape her cell.”

Bulma shuddered as the lord’s bored expression morphed a contented sneer.

“How intriguing,” he chuckled, “it has a skill.” He peered at her intently, “Your name, human.”

Bulma shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek.

He arched a brow.

She remained silent.

His grin widened.

Bulma’s lungs faltered.

“Oh, humans are so fragile, yet so stubborn,” he lamented, leaping from his throne in a liquid motion. She couldn’t help but stare at his three toed feet and his oddly small body. How was _this_ their lord? Why would these monstrous aliens answer to a creature that looked like a little girl’s dream toy?

But his tone, his expressions, Bulma could tell. This thing was _evil,_ no matter his stature. He killed a planet of people for no reason at all, and he strode as though legions of people should kiss the ground he walked on. Bulma thought she had met evil, met the worst of the worst, but none of them compared to Lord Frieza.

He was before her, only a few inches shorter than her, his gaze raking her expression like knives. His tail wrapped around him to softly caress her face. Bulma’s eyes widened, and she stiffened. She was like a deer in headlights, and it shamed her, but there was nothing she could do. The skin of his tail was smooth against her own, though if she had to have guessed, she would have expected scales.

“Are you pretty, for your species?” He asked quizzically. Bulma didn’t respond. He was more-so musing to himself than actually conversing. “I assume you’re intelligent, otherwise Cui wouldn’t have dared bring you before me.”

Bulma lifted her chin. The motion didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you mute?” He grabbed her chin viciously, and Bulma flinched. He moved her head – up, down, side-to-side – as though he were inspecting a prized horse for sale.

“You look remarkably like a Saiyan, yet you’re a hundred times weaker. Interesting….”

His tale lowered – and wrapped around her. Bulma released an outraged squeak as it made a sweep down her lower back and ass.

“Hey--!” she protested.

His eyebrows rose, and Bulma felt as though she had lost. His expression melted into triumph.

“Ah,” he said, “so it speaks.”

Bulma bit her lip and glared. “So?”

“You really are a curious thing. Dodoria,” he ordered, “take it to my quarters. I think it’ll make a perfect pet.”

Rage filled Bulma’s veins, a visceral beast that ate away at her good sense. _“What?”_ she screeched. _“No!”_

But Dodoria was dragging her away and her strength was no match for him. She tugged viciously against him, wrenching her shoulder, and proving herself to be completely powerless. A cold laughed followed her departure, ringing in her ears the entire way.

O

His ‘quarters’ were sumptuous and gaudy. An odd circular nest of fringed pillows and puffy blankets took up one corner of the room. Soft carpet nestled between her toes, and tables and drawers were covered with a jumble of various artifacts that Bulma had never seen: Delicate glass balls, floating rings, glowing mirrors. It gave the room a cramped feel. On the opposite wall was another door, which upon inspection revealed a very comfortable bathroom - which quickly reminded Bulma that she hadn’t peed in days.

Bulma quickly utilized the toilet… thing… before escaping back to the main room. It would be wrong for her to admit she wasn’t surprised. She had expected the room to be cold and sterile – an evil overlord’s room. Instead, it looked childish, like a teenager inhabited it – who would throw nothing out and found every object of interest. Completely at odds with a person who destroyed planets on a whim.

Bulma felt her throat constrict. This was the first time she had been left alone with no purpose. The first time she had really been able to give thought to everything she had lost. Everyone had died, and she had fought her hardest. Maybe if she had revealed less of her talents, using every machine she’d ever invented to fight them off, she would be dead with the rest of her friends. She wouldn’t be trapped in a madman’s room, to become his pet and plaything, waiting for unspeakable horrors to happen to her.

Bulma ran her fingers over the smooth tables, noticing they were made of some kind of wood, the first she’d seen in this cold ship of metal and wires. She never thought she would appreciate something so simple.

The guards outside inhibited any escape plan, but she could prepare for Frieza’s arrival. With that, Bulma scanned the room, picking out objects that could be potentially useful.

O

Frieza smirked as he padded down the corridor, proud at how well the day had gone – a successful purging, followed by a very profitable sale. His brother may have been larger and more powerful, but Frieza’s business sense was quickly catching up. And now he had a new toy, as well. He doubted she would last long, with her physical weakness, but it would be entertaining nonetheless.

Frieza waved the guards away from his quarters without a word, entering quietly. He frowned at the empty room. As soon as the door clicked shut, an explosion of light and energy shot towards him. Frieza laughed and caught it, squashing it in his hand. _How weak._

“Human,” he called. “Come out.”

The bathroom door was open. He studied her as she peeked out, disappointed, but unsurprised that he was alive. How curious.

She inched out of the bathroom, clenching some weird amalgam of parts in her hands.

“Your pathetic power could not come close to hurting me,” he taunted.

The human glared at him. He strode up to her, studying her as she grew unimaginably tense the closer he got. She was only a few inches taller than him. He wasn’t used to having someone almost equal to his height.

He plucked the machine out of her hands with ease. “What is this?” He asked with honest curiosity. “Where did you get it?”

Her jaw clenched, and Frieza studied the contraption closer. He recognized….  Some of this was _his_ stuff.

“You touched my things?” He said quietly.

“So?” she said rebelliously, finally speaking.

He wanted to rip her head from her body, but he controlled himself, instead focusing on how interesting it was that she had been able to make a weapon out of scraps in a few short hours.

“I would not speak to me like that in the future, human,” he warned, his tail flicking behind him. “You are a scientist.”

“That’s none of your business.”

Frieza snarled, grabbing her skimpy shirt and pulling her down to face him, a mere inch away. “I would suggest you _answer me.”_

Her eyes widened in shock and her heart beat like hummingbird wings.

“Y-yes. Sort of.”

“Hm,” he replied, releasing her. He took a step back and dropped her gun on one of his collection tables. The girl watched him intently. “I will keep it,” he announced.

She didn’t reply.

O

He ignored her the first night, for the most part. Bulma watched him as he threatened her not to run on pain of disembowelment, then exited to the bathroom where she heard water run. She knew he wasn’t exaggerating. The incident earlier had, if possible, made her even more wary of the alien.

She sat against one of the few empty spaces of wall, fighting the urge to curl in on herself. The gun had been a shoddy invention at best. She hadn’t expected it to harm him, but she also hadn’t been able to quench the unreasonable hope. He had done that for her though, quite easily.

Frieza reappeared from the bathroom, sans armor. Bulma studied his odd body, smooth and pink, black horns sprouting from his skull. Pretty, if he wasn’t pure evil. Odd spots were a shiny, gem-like purple. She wondered what those were. She certainly wouldn’t be getting close enough to find out, not willingly, at least. All he wore were his awkwardly small black short… things. Thank goodness he was an alien, or Bulma would feel _very_ uncomfortable about the attire.

He glanced at her briefly before padding to his nest to lay down, where he proceeded to stare at her.

“You are boring me,” he stated imperiously.

Bulma sneered. “Well, that sucks for you, buddy.”

His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t react beyond that. “You reek.”

Bulma’s face flushed. That was true, she did. She hadn’t bathed in days. “Well I wouldn’t if you let me shower,” she snapped.

His lips curved and he waved a hand lazily. “Bathe.”

Bulma felt her face slacken in surprise, before tightening in suspicion. He wasn’t blind to this.

“It does me no good to have to _smell_ you all night.”

Bulma flushed again, in anger though, before leaping up. Her energy was short lived though, interrupted by a wave of dizziness. She grabbed a table edge to keep herself upright, blinking until she could see through the spots inhibiting her vision. Along with her head injury, she hadn’t eaten in days. Until now, she had been too preoccupied, but now it was catching up with her.

She glanced at the alien, he watched her silently, curiously. Bulma glared before stomping to the bathroom. It took her a few minutes to understand the controls, but soon she had steaming water showering down the stall mashed behind the giant tub. Apparently, Frieza liked his baths.

 Bulma ripped her clothes off and slid into the shower, ignoring the bite of water in her shallow wounds. The blood and dirt washed away down the drain, a rusty brown. Bulma did not look at her body too much, not wanting to see the bruises or scratches. She scrubbed and scrubbed until she was a raw red, then turned off the shower. She stared at her filthy clothes blankly.

She would have to wear them, there was nothing else, and she would not parade in front of a psychopath – her species or not – naked.

Bulma slipped her clothes back on, cringing the entire time. Then she opened the door and peeked out.

The room had dimmed, but she could see well enough to know that Frieza had his eyes closed. Almost immediately they slid open. Bulma tensed but didn’t overreact, instead moving back to her little piece of wall, eyeing him the entire time.

His nose wrinkled. “You still reek.”

Bulma scowled. “My clothes are dirty.”

He stared at her blankly. “Then take them off.”

“What? No!”

For a brief second, Frieza looked caught off guard. “I said, take them off.”

“I refuse.”

“I will kill you,” he threatened.

“Don’t care,” she feign yawned.

He stared at her, obviously intrigued. “Why not?”

“Because people are supposed to wear clothes,” she snapped.

His lip curled. “Then find some new ones.”

Bulma frowned, glared, then stood up to search.  It took her ten minutes of awkward wall groping to final a panel to a closet, which was behind a table. She opened it, precariously reaching over his piles of junk to reach a folded pair of sweat pants and a long shirt, the same sort of thing most of the other warriors were wearing – if they weren’t wearing the weird underwear things Frieza currently adorned, at least. She snagged her bounty, sniffed at the blank-faced alien, and escaped to the bathroom to change.

Leaving her clothes in the middle of the bathroom floor – her small bit of rebellion – she then returned to, what she now dubbed, ‘her spot.’

Frieza’s eyes were closed, but they flickered open to glance at her briefly before closing again. Bulma was sure, though, that whether his eyes were opened or closed, he still knew _exactly_ where she was. She studied the stretchy material of her new clothes, noting that they were a few inches high on her ankles, but serviceable. She liked how they covered her body, making her ample curves shapeless.

She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around her legs and wresting her chin on them. Exhaustion weighed her down, but she was determined to keep her eyes open. She shouldn’t let her guard down….

Bulma yawned, and slowly her body relaxed as sleep forced itself upon her.

O

She woke up multiple times in the night, but was never able to keep her eyes open for an extended amount of time. What woke her permanently was the painful twisting of her empty stomach, the smell of food, and a pair of pale pink, three-toed feet standing right in front of her.

Bulma slammed back into the wall with shock, eyes wide as Frieza stared down at her disdainfully. He nudged her with one of his toes – _ew! –_ and stepped back. “Get up,” he ordered in his odd, cultured tone.

Bulma did as he said, slowly, feeling her muscles and back stretch painfully from her awkward sleeping position. Bulma eyed him suspiciously.

“I am leaving,” he informed her, “and you will make something else in my absence.”

“And what if I refuse?” Bulma challenged.

“Then you will die,” he replied flatly, moving to leave. He was in full armor. She wondered how long he was awake before her, or if had even really slept.

“I need more than this,” she waved her hand at his piles of junk. “I can’t make anything out of this.”

He crossed his arms impatiently and shrugged. He turned away and exited the room. Bulma stared, feeling doom creep over her shoulders like a thick cloak. The only positive part of this morning – or whatever time it was on the ship – was that a tray had been left behind, filled with food. It was unrecognizable, but she would eat the edible parts, at least.

She squashed the urge to gobble everything down, instead feeding herself a bite every minute so as to not get sick. When she filled herself, still leaving a sizable pile of leftovers, Bulma once again felt fatigue slip over her eyes. She glanced at her spot on the wall, then at Frieza’s nest.

_He was going to kill her anyway, right?_

Bulma crawled into his nest, wrapping herself in blankets and surrounding herself in pillows. She pretended they were her friends: Goku next to her with Krillin behind him, Yamcha behind her and Puar at her feet, keeping them warm. It was a bittersweet illusion, but she fell asleep to it, cradled in the arms of her loved ones.

O

She woke up to the sound of clatter. She glanced up to be faced with a large brown bug alien _thing_ dropping piles of random machine parts in the middle of the room. Bulma stared at him blankly.

“Um, what are you doing?” she asked against her better judgment. The thing looked at her – at least she thought so – and replied in a garbled language filled with clicks and whines. Bulma stared at him blankly before he made a shrugging motion and left.

She had no idea how long she had been asleep, but she felt much improved over earlier. She sat up, rubbing her eyes and letting the blankets fall from her.

Studying the pile of electronics, Bulma thought maybe Frieza had listened to her.

It still didn’t give her an idea of what to make, but… it gave her opportunity.

Bulma arranged his bed into a facsimile to what she thought it looked like earlier, then began to sift through the pile of wires, metal and discarded parts.

O

Frieza was looking forward to what the human made. He hoped she made something, else he would have to kill her. So far, not much entertainment had been wrung from her. Her mannerisms were odd, as well as her modesty. He wondered if all earthlings were – _had been, heh –_ like that. He certainly didn’t understand it. Clothes were meant to protect, and hers certainly didn’t protect anything. Neither did the ones she had picked out from his closet.

But then, all species had their own little culture, he supposed.

Once again he waved away the guards and entered the room. He first noticed the electronics had been organized into neat piles next to one of his tables. The next thing he noticed was the girl jumping out from behind one of the tables and shooting him.

It grabbed ahold of him and flew him in the air, attempting to restrict him. He let her hold him for a few seconds before slashing at the beam with a ki-enhanced tail. She frowned in disappointment.

“Interesting,” he said, padding towards her to take the creation out of her limp hands. He turned it over in his own fingers, scrutinizing the structure with intense concentration. Shoddy, he supposed, but it had been made out of trash, so he wasn’t surprised. The idea did nag at him, though, that this human could be useful.

“Your planet had this technology?”

Bulma paused. “Yes and no.”

He looked up at her, waiting for an explanation.

Her shoulders slumped. “We have… _had_ advanced peaceful technology. Not advanced weapons.”  

Frieza mulled this for a moment. “That is apparent. Why not?”

Bulma shrugged. “It’s not like we expected to get attacked,” she replied bitingly.

Frieza ignored her tone. “Well, that’s stupid.”

“That is painfully obvious to me right now, thanks.”

Frieza went back to studying the gun.

O

Bulma thought he looked like a child. He studied her gun from every angle, flicking it in various parts and even shaking it with his tail. She hated his blunt statements – the fact that he could say whatever he wanted and she could never properly reply without threats of death, or worse.

She studied him through squinted eyes, wondering how somebody could become so evil.

He grew bored with her gun and tossed it behind him where it loosed a muffled clatter against the carpet. Then he started looking at her – in the exact same way as the gun. He stepped up to her, his eyes roving her body in a particularly curious manner. It wasn’t sexual, but it was… uncomfortable nonetheless.

He was only a few inches shorter than her, and Bulma had the short, hysterical thought that his skin was almost the same color as her father’s hair. It comforted and disgusted her at the same time. He stepped forward, too close. His hand came up to grasp her chin, like he had done in the throne room. Bulma glowered at him.

Frieza released her, only to curl a strand of hair around his index finger. Bulma noticed his black nails. He leaned forward and sniffed her, tugging on her hair.

“Ow!”

His brow furrowed. “That _hurt_ you?” He pulled again.

“Of course it did,” Bulma snapped, attempting to pull away, to no avail.

“How pathetic.” he replied, distractedly, releasing her curl so he could run his fingers over her face. The pads were rough, calloused. She thought that was a weird thing to know about someone who had destroyed her world. He brushed her cheek bones, her nose, her forehead. A thumb swiped across each eyebrow.  She remained frozen at his perusal.

“What are you?” he demanded.

“Uh…” Bulma said, not sure what he was asking.

“Asexual?”

Bulma blushed, wondering why the hell this _thing_ would want to know.

“No,” she coughed. “We don’t reproduce… asexually. I’m a female.”

Frieza hummed, his hands on either side of her neck, and Bulma felt her vulnerability acutely. He could snap her neck like a twig. Then he continued further along, impersonal, as though searching her for drugs. He groped her shoulders, brushed her breasts and clasped her waist. His tail crept to nudge one of her ankles. Bulma withstood it all, arms limp at her sides.

Frieza relinquished her waist to capture one of her hands. He extended her fingers, watching the joints stretch and contract.

Finally, he stepped back. “Humans are weak,” he proclaimed.

“Duh,” Bulma replied, unable to help herself.

His eyes narrowed at her foreign slang.

“It means you’re stating the obvious,” she explained.

“Duh…” he repeated, as if he was attempting to taste the word. “How vulgar.”

Bulma just stared at him, unsure how to reply.

“Your body makes little survival sense. How is it possible humans survived for so long?”

Bulma felt her chest clench. “One, we were the top the food chain. Two, we didn’t feel the need to slaughter everything we touched.”

Frieza finally moved away from her, choosing instead to meander around the room, running his fingers over his collectables. “You were peaceful, then.”

“Er, not quite that, either.”

Frieza glanced at her, silently urging her to continue. He stopped his circle at his nest, lowering himself to lounge amidst the cushions.

“Well,” Bulma continued, “there were a lot of wars. And we were almost wiped out once. Goku and I….” Bulma’s words turned to dust in her mouth. Everyone was gone, and all she was left with was memories. How could she share her only precious thing with the psychopath who killed them?

“Anyways,” Bulma said, “that’s about it.”

His deep purple lips pursed with dissatisfaction. Maybe he would kill her now.

“Did all the humans invent like you do?”

“…No, a few did. My father…did.”

“I should really study planets more before I purge them,” he sighed.

Bulma felt a snarl try to steal her lips, but she held it back. “Or maybe not purge at all,” she suggested lightly.

His eyes glimmered, the childish curiosity replaced by maliciousness. “There would be no profit then. And weak races deserve no quarter.”

Bulma looked away, not wanting to see him for a moment longer, wishing more than anything that she could be back in her lab, knowing everyone was safe. Bulma went to her spot, sliding down the wall and curling her body defensively. He watched her every step.

Frieza curled up, eyes closing. Bulma watched him late into the night.

O

Bulma was _bored._ She had been in Frieza’s room for much of the day, curling in his nest or inspecting his trinkets. She didn’t think she could handle too much more of this imprisonment. She was used to exploring, to inventing, to socializing. Her social life consisted of fear, threats and curiosity.

It had been days, and there was still no sign of her imminent demise. Frieza seemed to find her just interesting enough to let her live. She wondered how many others there were like her, and how long they had lasted.

Bulma stared at her rag-tag inventions which Frieza had taken as his own. He seemed to have no concept of sharing, or ownership – unless that ownership was his. Bulma fingered her ‘freeze gun’ – she had giggled a little bit over that one – then her ki-gun. She had also created a necklace that hid one’s ki, which Frieza had been most interested in, and a pair of electric gloves. All of these were nowhere near perfect, and only worked part of the time, but…

They could be useful.

Bulma decided to use them all. She hooked on the necklace, slipped on the gloves and palmed her two guns.

She slid the front door open.

“Hello!” she greeted the guard pleasantly, before shooting him with the freeze gun. His froggy face had gone slack with shock. Bulma smiled at him apologetically before shooting him with the ki-gun. He dropped on the floor, seemingly unconscious.  Bulma stepped over his prone body, noting how well her weapons worked against Frieza’s foot soldiers.

Bulma strode down the hall confidently. As long as she wasn’t faced with a soldier with too much power, than she should be safe. She would have to find some kind of shuttle dock and steal a pod, then…. Well, she would figure that out. First priority was to _get away._

Bulma tried to be as silent as possible. Being barefoot, this wasn’t extremely difficult.

To her dismay, Bulma was completely turned around after three intersections. The corridors all looked _exactly_ the same.

O

Frieza was swirling his wine, not making any attempt to listen to the beast’s haggling. He had already told Gork to take it or leave it. He didn’t purge for free.

“Lord Frieza, it’s only a small planet,” Gork said, slimy blue skin shining through the com-screen, voice tinny from a cheap transmitter. “The price you ask is… unreasonably high.”

Frieza felt his lip curl. “Is that so, Gork?”

Gork silenced at Frieza’s blatant menace.

“The price is as listed,” Frieza continued, “you will pay that, or you won’t receive a planet at all.”

“I… yes. I will discuss it with my people.”

“Yes, you do that,” Frieza said with disgust, flicking off the com-screen with controlled viciousness.

He took a sip of his wine before giving his full attention to the sweating soldier who had been standing at attention since halfway through Frieza’s call.

“Lord Frieza, sir… I have… bad news.”

Frieza took another sip of his wine.

“The human has escaped you rooms.”

Frieza paused, his attention fully on the nervous man.

“But we are searching for her with every available man. She won’t be able to get far.”

Frieza’s wine glass shattered. _“How?”_ Wine dripped to the floor like thin blood.

“I…” stuttered the man fearfully. “She had some kind of weapon….”

Fury boiled in Frieza’s veins, hot and wet and vicious. Silently, he slipped out of his throne, padding towards to the soldier. He would break the human’s neck. He would rip her fingers from her body, one by one, reveling in her screams. He would –

He glanced at the terrified soldier. _Weak._

With a slice of his black nails, the man’s head was lopped off, leaking on the smooth, metal floor.

O

 

Bulma was starting to lose hope. She was running into more and more soldiers, and she knew it was only a matter of time before her shoddy weapons weren’t able to overcome her opponent. Her swathe of destruction was spreading, which meant they would at least be _aware_ something wasn’t right.

“Ah, here’s the little pet,” a smooth, cultured voice said, but not Frieza.

Bulma whirled around to face a tall man – the pretty, green one. He had one of the headsets on that most of the men wore, and she noticed him click something on top of the mini-screen. She wished she could study it….

“Leave me alone,” Bulma ordered.

A small puff of laughter was his response.

Bulma raised her ki-gun, twitching the trigger –

-it was gone. Bulma stared in horror as the green man fingered the gun, a few feet away. _So fast._

She stood no chance. She was totally going to die.

“Zarbon.”

Bulma turned to find Frieza behind her. He was smirking. His eyes were murderous.

“You found my human. Good job”

Zarbon bowed with a proud twitch of his lips. “It’s my duty, Lord Frieza.”

“You may go, Zarbon. There’s a… _mess_ … in the throne room. Have someone clean it.”

“Of course, my lord.” His eyes flickered to her, before he dropped the gun with a painful clatter and striding away.

Bulma turned to face the miniature lord squarely.

He walked to her, eerily silent. Bulma raised her chin, looking down at him as much as her few extra inches of height allowed her to. Faster than her eyes could follow, his tail whipped around her neck and squeezed.

Bulma choked, scrabbling at the smooth skin with her dull nails. Frieza stared at her with satisfied spite, lips curled in joy at her pain. Then he released her just as fast, her body dropping to the floor with an agonizing thud.  She gasped, unable to blink the tears out of her eyes. She fingered her throat gently.

Frieza squatted beside her.

“You seem to be under the presumption that you have _power_ here,” he said steely.

Bulma glared at him, though her wet eyes made it rather pathetic. “I _hate_ you!” she spat. “I hate you; _I hate you, I HATE YOU!”_

He stilled for a moment, then pulled away.

“Let me put into perspective for you,” he said, voice chilling. Bulma froze.

His muscles clenched and Bulma stared in horror as he morphed and stretched, body twisting until it was of gigantic proportions.

“Is this not enough?” he asked her, voice deep, red eyes watching her as though studying a gnat.

Again his body twisted, head elongating and mutating into a monster.

_Oh my god._

“How about this?” he hissed.

And then he shrunk, and his body was smooth, prettier than any other form, and ten times more horrific. Bulma’s hair prickled all over her body. Even ki-blind, she could feel his power. Her heart pounded in her chest, as though it was trying to leap out and escape.

He stalked her, like a predator, grabbing her shirt and hauling her up to face him.

“Do you see now, human?” He rasped in a smoker’s voice. “This is my _power._ You are _nothing_ compared to me. You are _pathetic.”_

He pulled her closer, his breath brushing her lips. “You live because I wish you to, and you will die because I wish it –”

His other hand came to grasp the side of her head. Bulma’s mind was blank.

_“_ Do you see now? _YOU ARE MINE!”_ he screamed. “You will _always_ be _mine!_ And you will not even control the _moment_ of your _death_.”

He released her, finally, thankfully – his wrathful face suddenly calm. He stepped back and she slid boneless to the floor. She never saw the backhand come; all she felt was pain, and darkness.

O

Frieza pulled the human’s limp body behind him, everbody he encountered scampering desperately out of his way. He was in his final form, which meant people would most likely die. The rage had subsided though. His tantrum was done and he was in control again. He hadn’t transformed in so long, it felt good to let his power crackle around him, a wave of energy that swelled as he moved, never receding.

His room was unguarded. He slipped in and tossed her in his bed and lowered himself to the floor in the middle of the room, legs crossed. He closed his eyes, forcing his body to power down, the energy leaving him gently, like a lullaby.

O

Bulma couldn’t open her right eye. It was swelled shut and sent jolts of pain through her head every time she moved. She was in his nest, but she didn’t bother rising, not caring if she should still be there. He had to have put her there, or some other flunky. She curled in on herself, trying not to let desperation swallow her whole. She was trapped…

A pink hand peeled the blankets away from her face and shoulders revealing Frieza, back in his first form.

A gentle hand reached to caress her face, the bruised side.

“Interesting,” he murmured. Bulma flinched away, trying not to grimace. It only hurt her more. Frieza had a mean swing. He crawled into the nest beside her and Bulma had to force her body to stay still, to not flee. The comforting blankets suddenly seemed like a cage, trapping her body in place.

He settled himself next to her, studying her face. “It almost matches your hair,” he finally stated.

Bulma glared at him. “Yeah, thanks for that.” She said flatly.

Frieza smirked, but let his fingers trail across her face, to the uninjured side. He stared into her eyes. “Your eyes too.”

Bulma restrained her sarcastic comment. She felt something creeping up her hip. Her gaze shot down to see his tail was exploring as well, again.

“My body is not that interesting,” she grumbled, discomfited.

“Why did you try to escape?” he asked, ignoring her complaint.

Bulma stiffened, hating the way Frieza kept her on edge. She knew what he was capable of, but she didn’t know what would cause him to snap.

“I was… bored.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Bored.” He mulled this for a moment. “Humans do stupid things when they are bored.”

“…yes.”

Frieza glanced around the room. “Then invent more.”

“I _really_ don’t have the necessary supplies in here.”

Frieza hummed, moving to twirl a strand of her limp hair, his tail releasing her side to twitch behind him. Bulma reigned in her desire to touch him, to see what he was, to satisfy her curiosity on what an alien species felt like beneath her fingertips.

She _really_ didn’t want to get hit again.

“My entertainment needs entertainment,” Frieza mused, lips twitching.

He released her, striding to the door. He glanced at her once more, lips still twitching, and left.

O

He allowed her out of the room, which almost made her hate him more. The freedom felt like a gift, even if she always had a lackey following her around, steering her away from the _forbidden_ areas of the ship. She explored as much as possible though, memorizing the layout, keeping track of where she wasn’t supposed to be. She was certain one of those places would hold space pods.

She started recognizing some of the soldiers: the friendly ones, the ones who leered at her, making her skin shiver, and the more powerful ones. Zarbon was one of those, as well as Dodoria, she found. They were practically his right-hand men. There were whispers of others, but everyone else seemed like nameless manpower. Bulma was allowed access to an empty lab, where she tinkered on meaningless projects.

She refused to offer anything of use to her captor.

Bulma was in machine room when Frieza found her. He waved away the guard, watching her as she tinkered with the generator that powered the ship’s lighting system – she wasn’t allowed to go near anything more important. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he studied her.

“I haven’t broken anything,” she finally said.

“Yes,” Frieza replied, “that’s why I only have emergency lighting in the throne room.”

Bulma grimaced guiltily and peered at him from beneath her lashes. He appeared annoyed, but not infuriated. Good.

“I’ll fix it,” she consoled.

He sneered at her, as though she had any other option. She scowled, knowing this was true. Her fingers flew in a quick pattern over the keyboard, returning all systems back to _Auto._ His tail slipped to wrap around her wrist.

Bulma looked at him curiously.

He pulled her closer, stretching to sniff her neck. “You smell like blood.”

_Oh my god._

Bulma flushed so deeply that even her hands turned red. She immediately avoided eye contact.

“It’s a female thing,” she hedged. She had been horrified when it started that morning. She had padded her pants with toilet paper, wishing more than anything that space tampons existed. If they did, she highly doubted she would find them in Frieza’s closet.

“Explain,” he said, pulling her wrist to follow him into the corridor.

“I… _really_ don’t want to.”

Frieza’s tail tightened around her wrist.

“It’s a human reproductive… thing.”

“You _bleed_ to reproduce?” he asked incredulously.

“Er, no.” Bulma stuttered. “It, uh, releases the old egg so a new one can take its spot.”

“Humans are like birds, then.”

“ _What?_ No!” Bulma replied. She couldn’t believe what she was about to do. “See, a man, uh, fertilizes the egg still inside of the woman, which then grows into a baby, which is birthed nine months later.

“Anyway,” she continued, “not too much to explain there.”

Frieza appeared dissatisfied with her answer, but didn’t seem to think it was interesting enough to pursue.

O

Frieza eyed the radar in the navigation room, noting there were only a few more weeks until they reached Station13X. There he would, for a short time, be able to indulge in nicer accommodations, and maybe even be able to provide his human with more parts for her to create interesting little toys out of. Frieza smirked at what she might try to conjure up next. Cui really had gifted him well – he would need to think of an award for the fish-faced soldier. He had been creative by bringing a living trinket over an inanimate one.

Only two weeks away, Frieza mused, making his way back to the throne room. He needed to assign his next purging.

O

Bulma was, once again, wandering the hallways. Her guard trailed behind her, looking as bored as could be. This was probably the least favored detail among Frieza’s men. Bulma knew she certainly didn’t appreciate it.

She almost didn’t stop when she heard the voices, uninterested in awkwardly passing any other flunkies. Curiosity stopped her though.

“Might be going to that planet next, Lord Frieza would certainly be interested.”

“If it’s even _true.”_

“Borry swore it was. A wish for anything, can you imagine?”

Bulma felt her heart thump, as though a hand had grabbed and twisted it like a sopping wash rag

..

“You’d wish for something like all the spirits in the galaxy.”

“Or all the _women.”_

“Where is this place, so maybe we can get assigned- “

“- Namek, or some other bumpkin planet. Right on the edge.”

“Hope Cooler doesn’t – “

Bulma listened until the conversation was fully away from her topic of interest. She continued meandering corridors, lost in thought. Thinking of plans, possibilities and renewed hope.

O

Frieza scowled at the com-screen as his father cooed about the growth of his and Cooler’s empire.

“Now if only you could catch up, then Cooler might be more interested in joining with you.”

Frieza glared at his wine, the thinly veiled comment nagging at his irritation. His empire was about a third the size of Cooler’s, despite his determination to catch up. _Damn Cooler._

“I know, father,” Frieza replied. “I can handle it, _without_ your help.”

King Cold smirked. “My boys, so _independent.”_

Frieza glared at his father, trying to smother the desire to simper, to get on his father’s good side. To _prove_ himself.

He was powerful. He was genius. Why didn’t Cold understand that?

Frieza tapped his nails against the edge of his throne, tip of his tail twitching in agitation.

“I was informed you have a new toy,” Cold finally said.

Frieza glanced at his father, resting his chin on a propped up hand. “A trinket, nothing more.” She would _not_ be taken from him. She was _his._

“You’ll have to bring it for your next visit,” Cold said lightly, though seriously. “I love new toys.”

Frieza shrugged. “Only if it’s still alive, father.”

“You never could keep your toys for long,” Cold proudly laughed.

A few minutes later Frieza disconnected the call, body thick with disappointment and frustration.

O

Bulma had just finished showering when Frieza entered the room. He strode up to her, tail wrapping around her waist and pulling her towards his nest. Bulma resisted for only a second before his strength overcame her.

She was forcefully lowered with him.

“You may share,” Frieza informed her imperiously.

“Alright,” Bulma replied awkwardly. She tried to relax, but her muscles didn’t want to cooperate. He tugged at her, shifting her body to face him, his tail wrapping around her calf. He stared up at her face challengingly.

“How old are you?” She couldn’t help asking, the question popping from her lips unexpectedly.

His eyes widened, and Bulma thought he didn’t look as evil when he was surprised.

“A little over seventy,” he replied.

Bulma gaped, shocked. “ _Seventy?”_ she gasped. “No way!” And she had thought him childlike! He was almost three times her age!

“It is not shocking. How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” Bulma grumbled.

Frieza snorted derisively. “A mere child.”

“Am not!” Bulma said, offended. “I’m an adult.”

“Humans are truly weak,” he replied, though his eyes had slid shut. Bulma studied his face for a few minutes before letting her own eyes slide shut. She slept surprisingly well.

O

Bulma was constructing a Dragon Ball radar. It was done out of some insane hope, but Bulma knew she would never use it. It was a desperate hope. She didn’t even have a way of testing it. She set it down when Frieza entered, appearing on edge.

Bulma watched him silently as he paced back and forth, took a deep breath, then squatted beside her.

“What is this?” he asked, palming the radar.

“A watch,” Bulma lied. “Unfinished.”

“Hm,” he replied, dropping it carelessly. Bulma tried not to flinch as it hit the carpet with a dull _thunk._

“Come,” he ordered, leading her to his nest. He didn’t seem interested in conversing. He lowered himself, clasping her hands and wrapping his tail around her waist. He didn’t stare at her, just shut his eyes and sighed.

Bulma, though, was wide awake. Her body itched with energy, wanting to pace around the room as he had done earlier. A long time passed before she finally gave in to her curiosity.

She untangled one of her hands, pausing once it was accomplished. He didn’t react.

Just as he had done to her, she trailed her fingers down his cheeks, across his snub nose and over the thick ridges of his brow. She ran a hand up one of his horns, wondering how uncomfortable it must be trying to sleep with those, as intrusive as they were. She remembered how they disappeared in his… final form.

Her fingers then trailed to the top of his head, whispering over the smooth, deep purple. It was warm. Odd.

Her fingertips brushed his neck, noting the thinness of his skin. She glanced up at his face. Her breath caught.

He was looking at her.

Bulma snatched her hand away, as though his skin were one fire. She tucked it against her chest protectively, waiting to see his reaction. But he just continued to look at her impassively, blankly. It was as though he were mulling something over, like how to most creatively kill her.

Instead, he just un-tucked her hand from her breasts and grasped it firmly in his. “Sleep,” he commanded. Bulma nodded, feeling like a chastised child.

O

Frieza was already attached to the idea of sharing his bed with a warm body, but he had never expected to wake to someone touching him. He was aware of it the moment she brushed his cheek, but he waited languidly for the moment she attacked. Except, she didn’t.

Her fingers brushed over him feather-light: across his face, up a horn, over the most sensitive part of his skull. He was stunned, and warmed.

He didn’t know how to respond, so when she pulled back, he pulled her forward, grasping her hand in the only way he knew how to non-lethally touch another person.

O

Bulma entered the lab on a mission – paper. She wanted paper.

She found a lab coat wearing alien and tapped his shoulder briskly.

“Do you have any paper?” she asked politely.

The willowy, plain faced alien stared back at her blankly. It proceeded to respond with a lilting, melodic voice. Bulma would have found it beautiful if she wasn’t so irritated at her incomprehension.

Bulma made an invisible square in the air, and pretended she was writing on it. “Paper,” she repeated, as though that would help.

“Pay-per?” it said in a strongly accented tongue.

Bulma nodded vigorously. “Paper.”

It turned around and practically floated to a nearby cabinet. The alien opened it up and rifled through. Bulma stood on her tippy-toes to peak over its shoulder. Finally, it pulled out a sheaf of balled up, crumpled papers. Some had scribbles on them. The alien handed them over with a gleeful, singing note.

“Thank you!” Bulma exclaimed, smiling widely. She ignored the way her guard grumbled behind her.

“Pen?” Bulma asked, making an imaginary scribbling motion.

The alien repeated her word again. “Pee-yen?”

Bulma nodded again. This was by far the friendliest alien she had encountered. He, or she, Bulma wasn’t sure, went back to rifling through the cabinet. In a few seconds, he produced a dull pencil.

“It’ll do,” Bulma laughed, happy to complete her mission successfully. The alien whistled as he handed it to her. For some reason, it made Bulma blush, though she had no idea what he said. She winked at him anyway, moving down the table to flatten her crinkled papers. She tucked a carefully folded sheet into her waist band, with the pencil, before moving to the next sheet.

She didn’t get far, though, when the alien came and pulled her next to him, pointing at a sheet.

“Uh, I don’t understand…” then her eyes widened in realization. It was a map! She turned to blink happily at the alien, who crooned and smiled.

“Where are we?” Bulma asked, waving at them, then the entire room. The alien pointed a five-jointed finger on a long, curved path. Bulma leaned forward to read the microscopic formulas scratched along the curve.

She began pointing to various planets and unrecognizable shapes, determined to remember as much as she could.

O

Frieza returned to his room only to find it empty. He growled with irritation before stalking back out.

_Where could she be, so late in the evening?_

Frieza checked the machine room and the barracks before glancing in a lab, not her lab. He walked in as she laughed; glancing at the alien next to her with coyness he had never seen. She had never shown him this side of her – this bright, bubbly, confident side.

The guard stiffened as he noticed his lord watching. Frieza waved him away silently, and the guard backed away. Bulma, nor her friend, noticed.

She was leaning over the metal edge of the table, pointing at something on a large swathe of graph paper. The alien tittered, leaning with her to point two fingers and make a sweeping motion. Bulma nodded as though this made perfect sense.

He only watched this light-hearted charade for a few more minutes before stepping in.

“Human,” he called. She stiffened at his voice and straightened. She looked at him guiltily.

“Frieza,” she greeted, and it didn’t pass him that she didn’t use his title. It was also the first time she had called him by his name. “What time is it? I was preoccupied….”

The lab rat alien beside her stood stiffly as well.

“What are you doing?” Frieza questioned, trying to remain on the side of civility.

“Um, he was showing me some maps of the galaxy,” a hazy wonder veiled her eyes. “I had no idea it was so vast…. And so populated….”

Frieza’s upper lip curled. “Come here.”

Bulma glanced at the other alien, hesitated, then trotted over to Frieza. Frieza pulled her behind him before padding over to the lab alien.

Before anyone could even see the movement, he shoved his hand through the alien’s chest.

_“No!”_ cried Bulma. She grabbed his arm, but she was like a gnat compared to his strength. He watched the light fade from the alien’s eyes before he flicked the body off his arm. He turned to stare at Bulma.

Her eyes were wide, her face white. She stared at him in horror.

“You are _mine,”_ he hissed, grabbing her wrist viciously and tugging her with him.

O

Bulma felt sickness well up in her chest. She tried to blink back tears, but she couldn’t hold them back, her cheeks stinging as the cool air bit at her wet face. And over and over she cursed herself. Cursed herself for thinking she could make a friend. Cursed herself for growing comfortable with a monster.

Disgust sliced through her veins, rage and sorrow seeping from her skin.

With a single action, he had brought back all the hate and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface.

When they reached the room he released her, disappearing into the bathroom. Bulma went to her spot, not wanting to go anywhere near his nest, not wanting him to touch her. She curled in on her body, hiding her face and trying to control the shivers that coursed through her. She ignored the hiss of the bathroom door opening.

He did not try to touch her at first, perhaps waiting for her to unfold herself. But Bulma knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

“Human,” he said, as though he hadn’t just psychotically killed someone for no reason. “Come here.”

Bulma didn’t respond, just curling up tighter, as though she could shield herself from him.

“Human!” He demanded, which she ignored once again.

A few seconds later something curled around her ankle.

Bulma shrieked in outrage as his tail pulled her from her spot, narrowly avoiding bashing the back of her skull against the wall. Frieza gave her no time to protest though, as he slipped both arms beneath her and tossed her into the nest.

Bulma landed in a splay of limbs and pillows. She resurfaced with a sputter. “N-No!”

“Silence!”

Bulma’s lips tightened as she held her tongue, turning away from him to curl up. He crawled in beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her against him. He was quiet for a moment before he whispered, his breath brushing against the shell of her ear gently.

“You are mine. That is what happens when you stray.”

Bulma gulped a shaky breath, trying not to sob. “But I didn’t….”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, leaning over to inspect her face. He swiped a tear from the corner of her eye, rubbing it between his thumb and index finger.

“We will be docking tomorrow,” he informed her, “do behave.”

Bulma lay awake long into the night, not daring to sleep with a monster in her bed.

O

 Bulma was alone in the room, not able to scrape up the energy to untangle her body from the blankets. She wasn’t curious about where they were docking. She didn’t care what was going on. She just wanted to shield herself from the world.

She was startled out of her depression but the loud _“Ah-hem!”_ from a hidden intercom.

_“Prepare for dock,”_ it announced. _“All available personnel to east deck for transfer.”_

A loud _click_ ended the transmission. Bulma sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. If most of the manning was in the east deck…

_This was her chance._

Bulma collected her inventions, like before. She strapped the freeze-gun to her thigh with some extra wires. She tucked the untested Dragon Ball radar into her pocket. She palmed the ki-gun with relish. She stared around the room, and felt a small bit of sadness register for her captor. Trinkets littered the room, and his desperate need to possess her made him more pathetic than she thought possible. If he wasn’t so evil, if he hadn’t destroyed her planet, then maybe she would feel more pity than hate.

Perhaps he could change, but Bulma didn’t care. She had better things to do than coddle a murdering psychopath. But she could give him one thing.

Her single sheet of paper and nubby pencil – she spread them out on one of the few clear spots of table. The rest of the paper had been accidentally left behind with the… corpse. Bulma scribbled out a brief note before straightening, preparing herself.

She opened the front door with a smile, and blasted her guard in the face.

O

Frieza was in the navigation room, watching as they pulled closer to Station13X. The ship shuddered as the station’s gravity grabbed them, hauling them in to the gaping landing dock, like a giant maw waiting to swallow them.

Landing lights floated around them, a dim red, leading them down the correct path.

O

Bulma panted as she jogged down the hallways. She was _really_ out of shape. She clutched her ki-gun in trembling fingers – only having to use it twice so far. East deck was a no-no, and west deck had proven a disappointment, but south deck….

That had to be where the pods were. She sped up, ignoring the way her lungs burned. Her side knotted up in a vicious stitch, but she didn’t care.

So close.

Bulma skidded to halt before a pair of doors her guards had never allowed her through. She popped open the panel to the side and opened the doors. She entered.

A guard gasped, and Bulma shot him before he could get another word out. She didn’t care if he was alive. She didn’t care at all.

Because this was where she _needed_ to be.

Small hatches lined up to petite pods. Bulma picked a random one, beginning the process preparing it for launch. It was guess-and-go, but Bulma wasn’t considered to be a mechanical genius for nothing. She had full confidence in her skills.

The pod popped open with a gratifying squeal.

Bulma climbed in.

O

Frieza ignored the panting guard who raced up behind him, too preoccupied with watching the ship land.

“My lord!” the lackey gasped. “There’s a problem!”

Frieza waved a negligent hand for him to continue.

“One of the pods has been deployed. Someone overrode the system and stole it.”

Frieza paused, and turned, eyes terrifyingly wide.

“Excuse me?”

O

The pod disengaged itself from the larger ship, floating away with a light puff. Bulma ran her fingers over the controls, hoping this wasn’t too different from her helicopter.  She could feel the small pod being drawn in with the ship, the Station’s gravity pulling her in.

It was now or never.

Bulma grabbed what she hoped was the throttle and pulled back.

O

Frieza stood on the deck, staring at the spot where Pod8C should reside. There was nothing. The guard had been shot with an unmistakable ki-blast

Frieza felt rage spot his vision.

“Turn the ship around,” he hissed. “ _Immediately.”_

One petite alien stepped forward, shaking. “We can’t, Lord Frieza. We’re too close to the station.”

Frieza smacked the alien, sending him flying across the deck to hit the wall with a satisfying crunch. Frieza snarled.

“ _I said_ ,” he screamed, “ _turn the ship around!”_

He felt rage and power boiling up inside of him, and he knew he was losing control of his form.

His body shimmered with fury.

But even through the haze of red, Frieza knew it was too late. They would have to dock, and by the time they were able to depart again, she would be too far gone to follow.

O

Bulma burst full power from the gravity field, dodging metal shrapnel and larger ships. She felt the strain of adrenaline rush through her as she maneuvered the ship away from the Station.

The pod squealed angrily at the foul treatment, not meant to be subjected to such stress on cold fuel.

Bulma pushed it forward, knowing this was her only change at freedom.

O

Frieza entered his room. He smelled her, and perhaps he had hoped she would be there, but the room was empty.

His original form settled over him like a comforting blanket, warming him in her absence. His skin was smooth and bare of armor.

He found the piece of paper quickly, left on one of the pillows. He stared at the symbols. If he had bothered to learn a dead language, her language, then he would have known it read:

_Good bye,_

But he had never bothered, so he didn’t know. He let the note dissolve in a ball of ki, unaware of what she had gifted him with.

O

Bulma was free.

She gazed blankly at the vast emptiness around her. She was woefully unprepared with no rations, crappy weapons and only the clothes on her back. But she was free.

And she had memorized the map.

Bulma jolted herself into action, fingers flying over controls until she found what she needed.

Bulma programmed in the coordinates to Namek and pressed enter.  


	2. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Namek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that time you had a story finished for years and forgot to post it...? Well, I'm sure it happens to everybody....
> 
> Please enjoy, despite this being old and unbetad.

Bulma stared at the blinking light on her consol. The obnoxious pinging it emitted made her cringe. Her fingers fluttered over the console, avoiding the incoming com-call with nervous anticipation. She would answer it, she had to. One, her curiosity wouldn’t allow her to avoid it. Two, the sound was _really_ annoying, and it had been ringing _forever._  

Bulma sighed deeply and accepted the call, preparing herself for an unhappy conversation.

O

Frieza tapped his wine glass with a black fingernail, leaning against the wall, tail flicking with agitation. The little lackey at the screen was sitting, posture brittle, his finger twitching over the com call. Frieza tapped his glass again, watching the blinking request flash across the screen.

He had finally calmed enough to think logically, like he was used to doing. She would not get far. He had the entire galaxy at his disposal, and she had only one measly pod, which could be easily tracked.

Frieza straightened, staring at the screen with a malicious smirk as finally the call was accepted.

O

Bulma stared at the screen in consternation as suddenly she was faced with Frieza’s sleek final form.

“Human,” he greeted, voice smooth, deadly.

“Frieza,” Bulma replied, trying to keep her own voice as calm as possible.

“You’ve started a game you cannot finish, human,” he murmured, lips twisting with rage.

“You can’t just expect the universe to bow to you!” Bulma bit back. “I’d rather die than be your slave!”

“That,” he said slowly, eyes snake-like slits, “can be arranged.”

“You have to catch me, first!”

Bulma hit disconnect, trying to calm the beating of her heart. There was a cold rage in his expression and words that she didn’t like. Without a doubt, he would be coming after her. Frieza would not be slighted by anybody.

With a frustrated growl, Bulma changed coordinates to land at the nearest trade planet.

O

Ramchak was having a great day.

First, he had sold out of all of the crappy generators he had accidentally ordered. His fragile stall at the end of the market street had been fair brimming with them. Ramchak had feared it would collapse, and then he would have to fork out three credits for a new stall.

And then the soft little alien had shown up. She had brandished her pod papers and offered him a deal. Ramchak had tried to touch her shiny blue hair, but she had pulled a gun out faster than he could blink. His had focused all eight of his eyes on her for the first time.

“I need a ship,” she had said, “and supplies: food, boots and maps.”

Ramchak tried to reach for the papers, but the alien flicked them just out of reach. It was a nice model and would be one of the nicest things he’d ever acquired. He could make a fortune from it.

“Only supplies,” he grunted. “No ship.”

“No deal.” The little alien replied. “All or nothing. Maybe a different vendor will offer me better.”

“Uh-!” Ramchak protested. “Only one map. One boots. Min-packets, not Max.”

The alien tapped a finger against her lips before shrugging. “Whatever, just hurry. Where’s the ship?”

Ramchak lead her down the street, maneuvering through the thick crowd. He stopped at the public decks, pointing at the only ship he owned, boxy and near the end of its existence. The little alien curled her lips.

“I accept,” she said. “Supplies, now. Then the title and ship are yours.”

Ramchak hurried down the street as fast as his blubbery body would allow. He tossed her supplies hastily into a threadbare knapsack.

“’Ere!” he said, shoving it in her face. She tore it from his fingers, and rifled through it hastily. His old ship’s title was mixed in.

“Nice doing business with you,” the alien said before slipping into the market street, lost in the stream of buyers.

Ramchak fingered the pod papers with glee. He giggled, licking his lips as he read over the script. He scowled at the two aliens that kicked his stall.

“Fuck off!” he snapped, regretting his crass words when he noticed their armor.

O

Nappa was smirking as scanned the marketplace, head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd. Vegeta tried not to itch with irritation than he was a head shorter than most of the crowd. Their scouters pinged as they caught the signal from the pod.

“Too easy,” Nappa boasted, leading the way, creating a split in the crowd that Vegeta slipped through.

The public docks revealed an array of ships, most in deplorable conditions, with missing panels and cracked windows. The pod was parked on a slightly upraised dock, looking scratched, and very, very empty.

“Damn,” Nappa muttered, rapping at the pod door with a loose fist.

Vegeta gazed around the docks before his hand snapped out to grab the nearest scurrying peon.

“Whose pod is this?” he snarled, shoving the quivering humanoid at the pod.

“U-uh! I-I-!”

“Answer me.”

“Ramchak,” the humanoid whined, pointing down the busy market street, “’e just bought it!”

Vegeta threw the man to the ground, stalking in the direction of the market street. Nappa followed behind, not attempting to hide his malicious smirk. It only took a few _questions_ before they found the vendor.

Vegeta tried not to curl his lip in disgust at the large, eight-eyed alien blob.

“Fuck off,” the creature muttered, gazing intently at the title in his chubby fingers.

Nappa laughed, and Ramchak flinched, looking at them with dawning horror in all eight eyes.

“A-ah,” he choked, “forgive me, please!”

“If you give us information, we _might_ not kill you,” taunted Nappa.

“You are in possession of a Planet Trade Organization pod,” Vegeta said, “tell me about the seller.”

Ramchak’s flabby mouth slackened before shutting again. “Little blue alien. Woman. Needed supplies. I gave her my cargo ship.”

Vegeta flicked his gaze at Nappa knowingly.

“Did she say her destination?”

Ramchak shook his head violently, jowls quivering.

“What was your ships model?”

“CX16!” Ramchak breathed, happy to finally be able to answer a question precisely.

“Then it isn’t much of a loss,” Vegeta replied with a smirk, grabbing the PTO pod’s title. He folded it before tucking the paper carefully in his armor. Frieza was not a fan of unnecessary financial loss, and since he was the lord of this place, the vendor could do nothing about it.

Vegeta began to walk away before tossing orders behind. “Nappa, do with him as you wish. I’ll track the cargo pod.”

Nappa grinned, cracking his knuckles before turning back to the vendor.

O

Bulma cursed at the crap ship’s console, restraining the desire to punch it with her meager strength. It would happen that as she was entering Namek’s atmosphere, the manual controls would fail. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she unhooked the under panel, searching for the malfunction with desperation.

_Shit._

Bulma stared in horror at the melted, sparking mass of wires she was faced with. This wasn’t a quick fix. This was a _never meant to be fixed_ fix.

“Damn you, Frieza,” cursed Bulma, despite him having nothing to do with the issue. An alarm started blaring from the console as the pod shook ominously.

“You have got to be kidding me!” Bulma’s fingers danced over the controls, stabilizing the gravity and spreading the brake flaps. The shaking became more violent, and somewhere from behind her metal screeched painfully.

_Screw this._

Bulma threw herself beneath the console again, ripping at the wires randomly. She _needed_ those manual controls. She would die without them, and then her escape would be a total waste.

Bulma began to reattach wires, discarding all the unnecessary ones. She felt the gravity shift, her body becoming obnoxiously lighter as the ship’s gravity system came close to failure.

“Damn, damn, damn!” Bulma hissed, biting her tongue.

_There!_

And the ship was slicing though the thin cloud layer above the planet, barely hiding the green and blue landscape that brought back a stabbing nostalgia. Too little time for Bulma to think about that, though. She grabbed the controls and pulled back, using brute strength to bring the ship up to a survivable land. The correction was miniscule at best, but Bulma didn’t stop, pulling back. The ship ripped through the air, screaming with the resistance the air brought.

Something ripped off the ship, but Bulma didn’t care. She would be lucky to get out of this piece of crap alive. With one final wrench, Bulma pulled the controls back, leveling the ship horizontally before it hit the soil. The resistance threw her forward, smacking her body against the metal ledge with no mercy.

Bulma groaned in pain, wishing the damn thing had seat belts, and vowing to never buy another pod like this again.

The ship groaned to a moaning, shuddering halt. Something crackled in the back of the ship, but Bulma’s hearing was fuzzy. Something wet trickled down her forehead, and she realized she was splayed across the ship’s console like a virgin sacrifice.

And that was Bulma’s last thought before unconsciousness took her, sprinting her into darkness.

O

_“Devivrus ti ykcul sti.”_

_“Ereh gniod ti si tahw tub?”_

_“Guru ksa dlouhs ew.”_

They were speaking a foreign language. Bulma tried not to move, tried to listen in, but nothing made sense. She opened her eyes to be faced with a stone gray ceiling. She blinked to clear her sight, her vision fuzzy around the edges. She groaned.

_“Ekawa erouy! Ha!”_

Bulma’s gaze slid to the side where she was met with a crinkled, green face. She gasped.

“Kami!”

A grin threatened to burst from her face, but the pain stopped her. The smile quickly transformed to a pained flinch. A cool hand gently pressed her back down, stopping the throb. Bulma closed her eyes, breathing through the hurt before opening them again.

It was not Kami. His face was a bit thicker, a bit more wrinkled. Age spotted his forehead more so than the old Guardian of Earth. This was not Kami. Bulma blinked back tears, her hope wilting.

But even so, the Kami look-alike had a kind face. He smiled softly at her, before asking something in a foreign tongue. Bulma frowned.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He sighed in exasperation, before beckoning one of the green men behind him. Their youth was apparent in their smooth skin and straight backs. Their expressions were not nearly as friendly.

_“Dnatsrednu nac ew os, Guru ot reh ekat.”_

Bulma curled in on herself as the stronger looking one approached her, but he did nothing but curl his arms beneath her to softly pick her up. She thought how similar he looked to Piccolo, and realized how extremely strange this was.

He carried her out of the little stone hut, and despite the blinding sunlight, Bulma couldn’t shut her eyes as dozens of green men, all of varying ages, all like Kami and Piccolo, gazed at her. Young children to the oldest crones surrounded her, and Bulma couldn’t help be trampled by another wave of nostalgia.

She wrapped her hands in the loose swathes of clothing as the man took flight. Her heart leaped, and she wondered what the hell was going on.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “Who are you? What’s going on?”

“ _Teiuq!”_ he ordered, and Bulma shut up, pursing her lips until she became bored and started studying the landscape. It was so similar to earth, but so different. The water was green, the grass was blue. It was beautiful, with soft slopes and jutting crevices. Bulma wished to be put down, to run her fingers through the grass and learn how similar it was to home.

But she kept silent, trying to ignore the pounding in her head and the way her clothes stuck to her body with dirt and sweat. Whoever had treated her had not bothered to remove or clean her clothes, and despite the discomfort, she was thankful for it

Bulma stared intently as they came upon an unnaturally formed piece of land. It jutted from the earth precariously; looking like a strong wind could knock it over. On top was another hut.

Another green man stood outside, arms crossed and formidable.

_“Loof, ereh neila na gnirb uoy!”_

_“Hguorht em tel, ti dednammoc Moori.”_

The formidable one grunted before stepping to the side. Bulma was dropped to her feet before pushed into the dark entrance. The moment her eyes adjusted, they focused on the massive being sitting before her. Like the others, he was green. Unlike the others, age dragged at his skin. His massive form was overpowering, yet sad.

Bulma stepped forward hesitantly. “Hello?”

A large hand beckoned her, and Bulma vaguely thought this was a very _bad_ idea.

_“Kciuq eb lliw siht. Namuh, evarb eb.”_

And then his hand was on her head, and Bulma froze as a stream of her memories flashed before her eyes. She broke away with a gasp, staring aghast at the large creature.

“Ah,” he sighed, “such a sad child.”

“What _was_ that?” she snapped, heart pounding. Her head ached more than ever.

“I searched your memories,” he explained gently, “and I know why you have come here.”

“You understand me.”

His wrinkled face offered a small, wry smile. “We understand each other, now.”

“ _How?”_

He bypassed her question. “I am Guru, the elder of Namek. I am the provider of the Dragon Balls.”

Bulma’s heart stuttered. “So they’re here.” She whispered, feeling tears well down her cheeks. “They exist.”

“We protect them from those who wish to use them for unnecessary gain.”

“My wish isn’t unnecessary!” Bulma snapped, clenching her hands into fists.

“Some wrongs are meant to happen,” Guru sighed. “Some wrongs are not meant to be righted.”

“How can you say that? How could you think that? My people, my _world-“_

“Calm yourself, young one. I have not denied you, yet.”

Bulma sealed her lips, staring up at the large, wrinkled being with desperate hope.

“What would you do, with your wish?”

“Wish everybody back on Earth,” Bulma said fiercely.

“Ah, but what about the man who seeks you out? You do not think he would repeat what he did before?”

Bulma turned her gaze to the ground, staring intently. “We would fight him,” she whispered, “with everything we have, we would fight him.”

“You did that before,” he reminded her. “Perhaps this is a foe not to be defeated with firepower.”

“What other way is there to defeat him?” Bulma asked incredulously.

Guru shrugged, though once again his lips quirked knowingly. Irritation clawed up her spine, but she refrained from snapping at the older being with what Bulma thought was remarkable restraint.

“So?” she asked, referencing the Dragon Balls.

“Some wrongs are not meant to be righted,” he murmured, and Bulma felt her throat constrict, “but I think your wrong needs to be righted. The Dragon Balls are yours to collect.”

Suddenly Bulma felt ten times lighter, like a rock had been lifted from her chest. She could breathe again.

“Thank you,” she nearly cried. “Thank you, so much!”

He flicked a hand, and suddenly the formidable Namekian was beside her.

“Nail,” Guru ordered, “take Bulma back to Moori. He will assign her a guide.”

Nail slid her a blank look before nodding. Much less gentler than his brother, he hauled her into his arms and took flight with little grace. Bulma scrabbled at his shirt desperately, hooking her fingers into a fabric death grip.

The trip was much shorter than with the other man, and Bulma was placed on the ground with jittery legs.

“You couldn’t have been a bit gentler?” she griped, holding onto Nail’s bicep to keep balance.

He gave her a flat look. “No.”

“Huh.” She replied, scowling at him.

He strode into the village, Bulma trailing behind like a lost puppy. Villagers stopped their tasks to stare at her, but soon they came to Moori, the man who she had mistaken as Kami earlier.

“So Guru approved,” he greeted with a genial smile. “I am glad.”

Bulma responded with her own hesitant smile. “Thank you for helping me. I doubt I would be alive if it weren’t for you.”

“We did our best,” he said, “though I’m sure you’re still feeling some aftereffects.”

Bulma rubbed her temple with a small laugh. “Just a little bit.”

Nail took that moment to interrupt. “Guru is allowing her use of the Dragon Balls.”

Moori blinked in surprise. “Now, isn’t that something.” He exclaimed.

“Spread our brothers to the other villages,” Nail continued. “And take the human to the summoning grounds.”

“It’s been so long,” murmured Moori. “But I know exactly who should take you. Dende!”

A small, green boy peeked from behind the nearest hut. Bulma felt herself swoon as his wide eyes looked up at her.

_So cute!_

“Yes, brother?” Dende said, moving out from behind the hut to face his elder, voice high and childish.

“I wish you to take our guest to the summoning grounds.”

Dende blinked and switched his gaze back to Bulma.

“Of course, brother.”

Bulma reached out a hand. “My name is Bulma, it’s nice to meet you.”

His small hand lightly grasped hers. “Dende,” he replied, and Bulma couldn’t help but grin.

O

Zarbon entered the throne room with a deferential nod.

“Lord Frieza,” he greeted, “I’ve news from Vegeta.”

Frieza’s lips quirked. He had been staring at the blank com screen in contemplation, but his attention turned to Zarbon quickly.

“Go on.”

Zarbon nodded. “They’ve followed the human to a distant planet named Namek.”

The edge planet at the bottom of the purge list – Frieza smirked. “How long has it been since I’ve done a purge personally, Zarbon?”

Zarbon smirked as well. “Too long, Lord Frieza.”

“I quite agree. I think it’s time we visit Namek. Inform Vegeta to wait around. We’ll be there very soon.”

Zarbon nodded again, leaving the room to relay the message. Frieza tapped the blank com screen, lost in contemplation once again. Soon, he would reach Namek. Soon, he would retrieve his wayward human.

O

Nail gazed up into the vastness of the sky, not bothering to blink at the bright sunlight. He sensed the two power levels approaching, quick and vicious.

Nail stepped inside the small hut, facing Guru expectedly.

“Should I greet our visitors?”

Guru sighed. “I had hoped to avoid any strife, my child. This does not bode well.”

Nail waited as Guru let out a great gust of air, as though deflating. “No, not yet. Let us see what they do.”

Nail clenched his fingers, turning to the entrance. All senses strained to where the power levels landed, and he hoped his peaceful brothers remained safe. In the distance, he felt for Dende and the human, and silently pushed them forward.

O

Bulma peered down into the green water, running her fingers through it in wonder.

“This is so different from Earth!” she exclaimed, glancing at Dende he stood hesitantly beside her. He gazed at what she did, but saw nothing but the water of his planet.

“Your water is different?”

“Yes!” Bulma flicked a few droplets in Dende’s direction. “It’s very blue. And our grass is green. They’re switched.”

Dende surveyed the clearing, trying to imagine such a world. How odd.

He turned back to the human, who was pressing her face against the grass, sniffing.

“But it’s still the same,” she sighed, rubbing her cheeks against the grass. “It’s been so long….”

“Our planets are similar,” Dende surmised.

Bulma grinned. “Yeah, though I still like mine more.” She scowled at one of the suns. “It’s hard sleeping when it’s always light out.”

Dende didn’t know a life without constant light, so he shrugged.

“We must go, Bulma,” he said, gaze sliding out to the distance.

Bulma sighed, but stood up to follow the Namek child. She shouldered her pack, filled with the gadgets she had made at Frieza’s. They had only been walking for the better part of a day, Bulma thought, and already she was tired. She desperately craved her hover bike – it would be so much quicker.

An image of Goku passed her eyes, as though she could see him, tall and strong, just over the slope. He would wave at her, a stupid grin on his face. Yamcha would follow, curling a muscled arm around her waist, trying to be cool for her, which would end with her scolding him. The rest would follow, and they would share some ridiculously cheesy joke before moving on to the next adventure.

Bulma blinked, shaking her head to clear her mind. She was left with the slopes and divots of Namek, and a concerned Dende about to grab her hand.

He smiled sweetly at her, his eyes searching hers, before grasping her hand.

“Come, Bulma,” he summoned. “You will see them soon.”

Bulma tangled her fingers with his, smiling down.

“You’re right, Dende. I can’t wait.”

He hummed in acknowledgment and tugged her hand, continuing their miniature journey.

O

Vegeta stepped from the pod, shielding his eyes at the bright sunlight. A fresh breeze tickled his face, whispering of clear fields and clean water. It had been a long time since Vegeta had been to a planet where the streets weren’t lined with filth. Frieza’s rule had not been kind to the galaxy.

“What a dump,” Nappa crowed as he stepped from his own pod.

“We were ordered to wait for Frieza’s arrival,” Vegeta said, surveying the sweeping plains around them. Trees sprouted from the ground in haphazard groups, small enough to provide little relief from the overbearing sun.

“He’s coming _here?_ ” said Nappa, surprised.  He groaned in disappointment.

Vegeta nodded, pressing a button on his scouter discreetly.

Nappa continued to complain. “That means no fun for us.”

Vegeta searched for the nearest group of power levels, all miniscule at best. This planet would present the Saiyan Prince with no challenge, much less the Planet Trade Organization leader. Was the human really so important to the evil lord?

“You know, Nappa,” Vegeta said with a smirk, “I’ve never been very good at waiting.”

O

Frieza stared out the window as the ship approached the small planet, awash with green and blue, the perfect picture of peace. His lip curled as he thought of the inhabitants, so secluded in their denial, so behind in their ways.

 Well, they wouldn’t have to live their backwards lives much longer. Frieza had his human to thank for that.

It was only a few more minutes before they landed gently beside a deep green lake. Frieza stepped from the craft, followed by Zarbon and Dodoria.

“How quaint,” Zarbon murmured.

“Yes,” Frieza replied. “The human comes first, though.”

“I’m sure the locals will know of her whereabouts.” Zarbon said.

Frieza chuckled. “Why don’t we ask them, then?” He paused, tail flicking behind him excitedly. _So close._ “But don’t forget to be _polite.”_

O

Dende stopped again, staring at the horizon behind them with fearful eyes.

“We need to hurry,” he breathed, tugging her along by her pant leg.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

Dende glanced behind them again and hurried his pace.

“Many aliens,” he near whimpered, “very powerful. And very _bad.”_

Ice trickled down her spine as Bulma turned to stare behind them as well, as though Frieza was right there, watching them with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “How could they know? I covered my tracks!”

She lengthened her stride. “How much further, Dende?”

“Still a ways,” he muttered, antenna quivering with nervousness.

“Dammit,” Bulma cursed. The hope for a reawakened Earth was slipping from her grasp, right between her fingers like water through a sift.

They continued on, puffing with exertion, feeling desperation warm their veins. Bulma wasn’t able to sense anything, but she certainly noticed the way Dende’s desperate glances became more and more frequent. Something was getting very, very close.

The sky dimmed as the suns fled from the middle of the sky to the horizons, where it would be the dimmest part of the day, though still as bright as any day on Earth.

Dende grabbed her hand, tugging towards a rocky outcrop that barely offered shade, much less a hiding spot.

“We have to hide,” he squeaked. “Now!”

Bulma tripped behind him, caught off guard by the sudden movement. Dende crawled under, wrapping his small arms around her to bring her in close next to him. Bulma did the same, curling him against her body as if to shield him from the very light that revealed them.

Two figures descended, alighting on the grass, gentle as an autumn leaf. One was hulking, and the other petite, but both of their expressions did not bode well.

“Don’t worry, Dende,” Bulma murmured, petting the top of his head. She slowly dipped her hand into her bag to pull out her ki-gun. “Everything will be fine.”

The bigger one chuckled, a threatening, gruff sound that set Bulma on edge.

But it was the small one, with his silence and intense gaze that really freaked her out. They were definitely Frieza’s men.

“What do you want?” she asked, trying to make her voice as strong as possible. She moved from beneath the outcrop, peeling Dende’s arms from her, attempting to block his slight form. She kept the gun behind her back.

“I can’t believe Frieza would want this thing,” the big one taunted. “It’s so weak.”

The small one smirked. “Who are we, to deny him a weakness?”

Bulma straightened her shoulders, thrusting out her chin with forceful determination.

“What do you want?” she repeated.

The small one stepped forward, and Bulma tensed.

“You see,” he said lowly, garnering attention with his soft voice, “at first I thought you would be perfect to use against Frieza, but that was before we found _this.”_

He nodded at the large man, who produced a very large, orange globe in his hand. There was a startled gasp from behind Bulma. They had a Dragon Ball.

“But then I learned about these. How interesting they are, that they give the collector a _wish.”_

Bulma nearly growled, feeling rage rush through her chest. “How did you get that?” she hissed.

Vegeta smirked. “An old, fat Namekian gave it to me. Told me all about it.”

“What?” Bulma said, incredulously. She felt Dende crawl up to her, standing and pressing himself against her right leg. The movement caught Vegeta’s attention.

“Ah, and there’s the brat we need. He told us this was the only Namekian who could summon the dragon.”

A small fist rubbed her thigh, and Bulma glanced down at Dende. He looked up at her, staring at her with understanding, with thought. He wanted her to know--

Guru planned this. Bulma didn’t understand why, but she would go along with it. Maybe later Dende could explain, but until then….

“So? What are you going to do?”

“Well,” said the big one, “the fat guy never said anything about needing _you.”_

Bulma stiffened.

_“No!”_ Dende rocketed out from behind her, arms spread and small chest heaving. “I won’t help you without Bulma!”

The big one guffawed, but the little one remained silent, eyes narrowing.

“You would do well not to challenge me, child.”

His body quivered, like a breeze ran through him. Bulma reached down a steadying hand, grasping his shoulder comfortingly. The gun was still pressed to her back, digging into her skin.

“I’ll help you,” Dende claimed, voice like a wavering musical note, “but only with Bulma!”

The small one slanted a glance at the big one, and then shrugged.

“Perhaps you could be of some use.”

Bulma let out the breath she had been holding, though her muscles were still tense. She felt hyperaware of the breeze, the grass, Dende.

“Nappa,” the small one ordered, “grab them.”

Bulma barely had a chance to grab a hold of Dende before the big one hauled both of them into his arms, flipping them over his shoulders like sacks.

Bulma screeched. “Put us down! No! I won’t be carried like this!” Bulma kicked his chest with all her might, which just managed to make him laugh and her scrape her knees.

“Uppity bitch,” he said, before taking to the air. Bulma still held her gun, but as they flew further away from stable, safe earth, she put the thought of using it at the back of her mind. She turned her head to make eye contact with Dende, who looked terrified. Bulma gave him a disgruntled expression and stuck her tongue out at Nappa’s back, which forced a small smile out of Dende.

He glanced down, eyes widening at the weapon clenched in white fingers. She made a shushing motion with her free hand and made a shrugging motion. He nodded, though his eyes lingered on the ki-gun. Bulma was just happy that she still had her knapsack, which held the meager extent of her possessions, precious as they were.

The air whistled around them, loud and cool. Bulma grew bored, realizing how continuous the landscape was, all water, grass, trees, water, grass, trees. She missed the dynamics of Earth; the sharp desserts and rolling mountains, the trickling streams and roaring waterfalls.

Earth was truly a paradise, and she wouldn’t take it for granted again – if she ever got it back.

O

Frieza smiled at the villagers, his power oozing around him darkly. They recognized his greatness, his magnitude – they bowed.

There wasn’t true servitude there, though. It was all too easy, too simple.

The elder stepped forward, nodding deferentially before looking Frieza in the eye.

“You are looking for the human, I presume? I am Moori, the leader of this village.”

“I am Lord Frieza, and yes. You don’t seem surprised.”

“Her ship landed just over that ridge.” Moori pointed, and Frieza waved Dodoria in that direction. He wondered if the Namekians weren’t as peaceful as he thought. They certainly seemed eager to hand her over. “We sent her with one of our youth, Dende, to another village.”

Frieza felt his smile slipping into something feral. His control had not been the same since her departure, and it enraged him.

“They will be going against the second sun, in that direction,” Moori continued, pointing with confidence.

“Why are you being so helpful?” Frieza asked suspiciously.

“We recognize your power. We cannot match it.”

Frieza’s arrogance was stroked, despite the niggling at the back of his mind that said something wasn’t quite right. He was close, so close. Only a brief flight and he would have her back, and he would destroy the planet as punishment for her rebellion. She would never question him.

Frieza snarled in pleasure as he lifted up in a brief hover, surveying the villagers whose blood would soon bathe his hands. Then he shot into the air, feeling Zarbon and Dodoria follow close behind.

O

Moori felt the fear melt from his body as the aliens departed. Their evilness was obvious from afar, but up close Moori could feel the darkness in their hearts acutely. These were bad man, and he hoped Bulma would not have to face them.

A small tug alerted him to the child at his feet.

“Moori,” he whispered, “will Dende be safe?”

Moori kneeled, a consoling smile gracing his wrinkled features. “Cargo, we must trust Guru. He would not lead us astray.”

Cargo turned his head slightly, to glance in the distance of the alien’s departure. “But they are so dark. It feels wrong.”

Moori hefted the boy up, silently agreeing with Cargo. He did not like leading Frieza to the girl, nor did he like letting them run amuck on the planet. But Guru trusted Dende, and he trusted Bulma, and Guru’s foresight had never led him wrong. He saved Namek before, and he would save it again.

“Don’t worry,” Moori comforted, “trust in our brother, for he’s much stronger than he believes.”

Cargo nodded, but he still stared into the distance, as though any second Dende would stride over the grassy knoll with a keen smile and an amiable wave.

O

Soon they started to descend, which had Bulma thanking the heavens, because she was seriously uncomfortable.

“Finally!” she grumbled.

“You’re just lucky to be alive,” rumbled Nappa, who earned an unseen glare from Bulma.

They touched the ground gently, though it was quickly offset as both Bulma and Dende were tumbled off Nappa’s shoulders to the hard ground. Bulma’s tail bone screamed in protest as she landed on her rear, though Nappa was already striding away. Bulma tucked her ki-gun away into her knapsack, thankful the men were too arrogant to check inside. They relied too much on power levels and not enough on caution.

They appeared to be speaking in confidence, so Bulma crawled over to Dende, who was gingerly rubbing his back.

“Okay,” she whispered, “what is going on?”

Dende glanced hurriedly at the soldiers before looking back at her.

“Guru has a plan,” he whispered. “There are strong power levels, these two carried us quickly enough to make it to the summoning grounds without them reaching us.”

Bulma nodded in understanding.

He scooted closer to her, leaning in. “They plan on killing us after they make a wish, but only I can speak to the dragon. I will make the first wish-“

Dende’s lips sealed as the two men walked back over, but one thought kept swirling through Bulma’s mind.

_First wish?_

Vegeta wrenched her up by her bicep and pushed her up the slope. Dende followed, sending her a sympathetic glance. Bulma glared at the small man, wishing she had laser vision to blast his stupid head off. He ignored her, trekking up the slope with a single minded determination.

Once they reached the pinnacle they were faced with a small valley, bare of trees and grass. Solid packed earth stretched from hill to hill. At the edges, stood six strong Namekians, one of which Bulma recognized as Nail.

He was the one who spoke.

“We are only here as spectators,” he announced, “please continue.”

“Can I kill them, Vegeta?” Nappa asked excitedly, and Bulma’s eyes widened as she saw a tail unravel itself from his waist to flick excitedly behind him. Immediately an image of kid Goku shimmered before her, tail waving happily behind him.

“What are you?” she gasped, blinking back desperate tears.

Nappa, Dende and Vegeta turned to her in surprise.

“What, never seen a _real_ warrior?”

“N-no, your tail! My friend….”

Bulma trailed off, the gust in her sails fizzling out like a lonely spark.

“We are the last of the Saiyans,” Vegeta said, eyeing her suspiciously. He turned to Nappa. “No, you will not kill them yet.”

Nappa’s shoulders slumped, but he eyed the Namekian warriors with expectant glee.

Bulma shook her head, smiling at Dende as he grabbed her hand.

“Everything is okay, Bulma,” he consoled, turning his gaze pointedly to the six dragon balls in the center of the clearing.

“The last one needs to be put with the rest,” he informed Nappa, who looked disgruntled at taking an order from a child, but he negligently tossed the Dragon Ball with the rest.

 Vegeta chose that moment to stride forward, jerking Dende viciously.

“You will wish for my immortality,” he commanded, staring into his eyes with near physical force.

Dende nodded nervously, and Bulma wondered about the Dragon Balls, whishing she could know exactly what was going on.

O

Frieza frowned as his sensor chirped with the recognition with a small group of power levels, most insignificant except for two very recognizable ones.

_Vegeta!_

Frieza curled his lip. That insubordinate cur, he should have killed him with the rest of his race. And then there was a puny power level, one outstanding only by its shear lack of power.

Vegeta had his human.

Frieza snarled as power burst around him, uncaring that he was quickly leaving Zarbon and Dodoria behind. Why was Vegeta with the human? Why would he take any interest in her?

Frieza blinked out of his rage as the sky, which had been bright and cheerful suddenly darkened ominously. Sickly green clouds curled around the sky, and Frieza slowed slightly, stumped at this odd occurrence. A storm? An attack?

He sped up again.

He didn’t care. He would get his human back no matter what.

O

Guru sighed as he felt the power surge from Porunga. It had been many cycles since the dragon was summoned, and it never ceased to amaze Guru. He linked his mind to Dende’s, gentle as a blooming flower.

_You know what to do, Dende._

A short pause, like a breath being drawn.

_Yes, Guru._

Guru smiled. One day, Dende would make a fine guardian. Until then….

_I believe in you, my child._

A whisper of a smile filtered through, and the connection was cut. Guru settled into his chair, feeling the lives of all his children, tiny flames that always danced on the edge of his conscious.

O

Bulma stood back, restrained by Nappa as Dende stepped forward on shaky feet. Vegeta stood a few feet behind him, arms crossed menacingly, eyeing the Dragon Balls with a greedy gleam.

Dende raised his arms, spread wide and Bulma thought, despite his small form, that Dende was powerful.

“Rise, Porunga!” he shouted and the earth rumbled with his command. “Rise, Maker of Dreams!”

Wind whipped, snagging Bulma’s hair and clothes, grasping at the earth like a wild beast. She noticed vaguely, as they sky darkened, that the Saiyan’s took a shocked step back. They had never experienced the power of the Dragon Balls.

In a flash, the dragon burst forth, twisting up to shadow the sky, a hulking, massive figure that nearly blotted out space. Bulma gaped at the thick strength of Porunga, so massive compared to Earth’s own dragon, Shenron.

“My immortality!” shouted Vegeta, fists clenched at his side, but the dragon only had eyes for the Namekian child beneath him, surrounded by the floating Dragon Balls.

“State your wishes,” he said, voice deep and low, resonating in Bulma’s chest like a steady drumbeat.

She saw Dende gulp, and Bulma wanted to rush forward, to scream her wish to Porunga like Vegeta did, but she didn’t. She placed her faith in Dende, the child who guided her here, who held her hand and became her friend.

Vegeta’s eyes were wide with hope and desperation; he stared at the dragon like his entire life lay in the dragon’s claws.

She didn’t care. Immortality was stupid, and she was selfish, and the lives of everyone on her planet were more important than whatever he could desire.

Then Dende was shouting in another language, and Vegeta was staring at him, and the dragon was speaking.

“Your wish has been granted,” and it was like a sigh coated her body, a flower petal sweet and soft against her skin.

“Bulma!” Dende called, turning with a trembling smile, “the last two wishes are yours!”

“What?” growled Vegeta, power shivering over his skin. “ _No!_ What have you done?” he screamed.

He rushed towards Dende, reaching back to punch him, but his fist slid away from the child, as though a slick shield blocked him.

Vegeta froze; face aghast as he stared at his fist, then the child. “What have you _done?”_ he hissed.

Bulma felt Nappa release her, and she rushed forward to wrap her arms around Dende. He patted her bicep with a comforting hand, though she felt the trembles running through his slight body.

“I have made it so that neither you nor your master can harm this planet, or anyone on it.” Dende puffed his chest out. “You are all powerless here.”

Vegeta’s arms dropped to his side, the violent energy disappearing. A slow chuckle tumbled from his lips, followed by a grating guffaw.

“Frieza, _Frieza?”_ He laughed hysterically. “Frieza has no power here?”

The Saiyan straightened, turning to face his subordinate. “Let’s go, Nappa.”

Nappa scowled. “But, boss!”

“ _Now, Nappa!”_

Nappa grumbled, but they both took to the air, not bothering to glance again at their once captives.

Dende turned to her. “You have two wishes. You may not wish multiple people back with them.”

Bulma blinked in shock. “But, my world….”

Dende patted her again. “You will find a way, Bulma. I promise.”

“No,” said a familiar, raspy voice, “you won’t.”

Bulma tensed, not wanting to turn, to face him. But she did, her neck feeling like it was held together by rusted metal. She turned, and there he was.

Frieza stood atop the knoll, ignoring the dragon, the warrior Namekians and even Dende. He stared at her, eyes red slits that had only Bulma in their sight.

“Frieza,” she said, “you can’t stop me!”

His lip curled, and Bulma felt a shiver prickle up her spine. He was in his final form, sleek and untamable, and he looked deadly.

“I can do whatever I want, human,” he informed her, stepping down the gentle slope. “You are powerless to stop me.”

“Maybe I am!” she shot back, “but he isn’t!” She thumbed at Porunga, who watched them impatiently.

“Make a wish,” Porunga ordered heavily, red eyes studying them.

Frieza stared up at the dragon with impressive impassivity.

“This,” he fluttered a hand at the dragon, “is not my concern.”

In a flash, he was standing before her hunched form, smirking. His tail hovered behind him like a snake ready to strike.

“You can’t hurt me!” she yelled desperately.

“Who said I intended to,” he taunted, grabbing her bicep and, almost gently, pulling her up. Bulma cast a wild glance at Dende, he reached for her.

“Make a wish, Bulma!”

Frieza paused, glancing at the child. “Bulma?”

“My name, idiot!” snapped Bulma, confused at his surprise. “Whatever! Dende!”

Dende snapped to attention. “Yes!”

“Wish Piccolo back to life on Earth!”

Dende nodded vigorously and turned to face the dragon, shouting.

“What is this?” hissed Frieza.

“I’m bringing my people back!” Bulma hissed in return.

Frieza shook her. “No! _No!_ Then I will kill them all! I will not release you to them!” He dragged her away, uncaring as she stumbled over the uneven ground. Bulma pulled back, wrenching her shoulder in pain, which made the first wish take action. He was pushed away, as though a wind had rushed between them.

Frieza snarled, reaching to grab her again. Bulma pulled away.

“You can’t keep me!” she screamed, trying to push at his seeking hand. “I am not yours. I am my own, and you can’t trap me. _I’m free!”_

“No!” Frieza shouted - voice near breaking with his rage. “You are nothing! You are insignificant, and you will not challenge me! I am the most powerful!”

“You’re pathetic!” Bulma spat.

Frieza lunged at her, but once again he was diverted by the first wish.

Almost immediately Bulma regretted her words. Because, despite his darkness, he was truly like a spoiled child. He had been taught all the wrong things, and had been given the galaxy through the misuse of his extraordinary power. He never learned right or wrong, he only learned about selfishness.

“Bulma!” Dende shouted. “Your last wish!”

Bulma glanced back at him, then at the seething lord. Something snapped in her, and she leaped forward, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I’ve got to go.”

His eyes had widened, and in this form he was almost eye level with her. His eyes had widened at her embrace.

One of her hands came up to caress the base of his skull. Vaguely, she thought she saw more of Frieza’s men land around them, but she focused on Frieza. His tail came to wrap around her waist, tight as possible without hurting her. His hands grabbed tightly at her shirt.

“You will not leave me,” he ordered forcefully.

“I will,” she challenged, but her hands touched him gently. Her thumb brushed over his cheek, and he, for a brief second, looked like a lost child.

“I will find you,” he threatened. “I will kill them all again.”

“And I’ll fight you every step,” Bulma said sadly, wanting to wish for his change, for his goodness.

“Dende!” she shouted, not looking away from the lord in her arms. “Wish me back to Earth!”

His arms tightened, snaking around her back to pull her against his sleek body.

_“Don’t!”_ he snarled.

Bulma grabbed the sides of his head, pulling him in to place a brief, gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Sorry, Frieza, but I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

He near wrapped his body around her, as though it could keep her from disappearing, but her form still shimmered and wavered, until a soft _pop_ whisked her away.

O

Bulma landed on the summit rock, falling to her knees as the power of Porunga left her. A gentle breeze tugged playfully at her curls, and Bulma saw two pairs of feet pad in front of her.

Bulma looked up, and tears blurred her vision as desperate sobs wracked her body.

Before her stood Kami and Piccolo – one’s expression stern, the other gentle.

Behind them, the sweeping forests of Earth greeted her, as though waving her back home. Tears ran down her face, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wonder of her world.

“Child,” said Kami, his hand softly alighting on her shoulder like a sparrow.

Bulma looked in his eyes, and her soft smile prefaced a tumbling, joyous laugh. She grabbed both Namekians, pulling them into her arms, despite their stiff discomfort.

“You’re alive!” she rejoiced. “You’re alive!”

She released them to wipe at her face with a dirty sleeve.

“As are you,” Kami replied softly. “Care to explain?”

“Later,” Bulma waved, struggling to her feet. She pulled the untested radar from her knapsack, hoping it hadn’t been damaged. She flicked it on, grateful for the tell-tale beep. Bulma’s expression lit with hope as the radar pinged excitedly.

“First,” she breathed, “we find the Dragon Balls.”

O

Frieza didn’t notice the dragon sprint into the sky like a shooting star. Nor did he notice the sun shining down, the warriors carrying away the Namekian child and the Dragon Balls, nor his soldiers surrounding him.

“My lord,” filtered in Zarbon’s hesitant voice.

Frieza stared at his empty palm, clenching his fist tight and releasing it again. She had been in his arms, she had been in his grasp, and yet she _still_ escaped. The spot on his forehead, where her lips pressed, tingled.

Frieza smirked.

How _resourceful_ of her.

“Zarbon,” Frieza said, nearly shocking the man, “ready the ship.”

“Yes, sire.”

With every escape, his human only proved how worthy she was of being his pet. If Frieza hadn’t been determined before, he was certainly now.

“Our destination, sire?”

Frieza chuckled.

_“Earth.”_

 

 


End file.
